


A Day Off

by McDouggal



Category: RWBY
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Gen, Not really heavily edited, POV First Person, Weird experimental thing that I wrote to try and deal with a case of writer's block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:39:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23814736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McDouggal/pseuds/McDouggal
Summary: It's a Saturday, and my wife Pyrrha and I take Saturdays off.
Relationships: Pyrrha Nikos/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	A Day Off

**Author's Note:**

> So, fair warning: This is a weird piece. Every bit that I write for fun is for my own pleasure first, but this one definitely takes that cake, to the point where I was definitely wondering whether I should publish it.
> 
> It's a first person perspective fic that I wrote to try and deal with some writer's block on _The Grimm War_ that kind of got away from me. I originally thought it was going to be a one day, 1000 word minific and then it ballooned into this 3000 word thing.
> 
> I've done some basic editing passes, but not anything intensive. Expect a mistake or four.

The sun finally creeping above the treetops and into the bedroom window is what wakes me. A n instant of not-quite-awake confusion later, and I’m awake and mostly alert. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table opposite me,  I see it’s 9:23.

I feel the steady breathing of my wife against my chest. I look down and see the great mess of crimson hair pressed up into me, one hand from each of us gently resting atop the other’s side.

I close my eyes and relax, relishing the calm Saturday morning – the one day of the week where, when we're at home, we have agreed to not have any schedule. Gently pulling my wife in to hold her closer without waking her, I try to figure out what I’m going to do today.

_ ‘I should probably make breakfast first,’  _ I think.  _ ‘Pyrrha’s probably going to be sore from doing her strength training after dealing with that pair of Death Stalkers yesterday, maybe give her a massage? At the very least, I should get a hot pack ready.’ _

Pyrrha’s arm tightens around my waist, and I feel her breathing speed up a bit. Craning my neck down, I plant a light kiss  on top of her head and whisper “Good  morning , beautiful.”

She grumbles something unintelligible and pulls herself closer to me – even after all these years of practice, she still doesn’t wake up all at once.

I smile. “It is Saturday, but we do need to get up at some point,” I whisper to her.

She looks up at me, emerald eyes pleading. “ Just fifteen more minutes?” she murmurs .

I press a kiss to her forehead.  “Ten minutes. Then I’ll get up and start making breakfast while you take a shower.”

“Only if it’s pancakes,” she mumbles into my chest.

I chuckle lightly. “They won’t be as good as Ren’s.”

“That’s fine.”

We lie in silence for a few minutes before I finally must answer nature’s call. Extricating myself to the sounds of grumbling from Pyrrha, I grab my revolver and knife from the bedside table and sling the belt over my shoulder – the Grimm usually know to stay clear of this house now, but every once in a while there’s a particularly stupid or brave one who decides to try its luck.

A quick stop in the bathroom later and I throw my pants on, threading the weapon belt through the loops before working into the kitchen. Checking the fridge, I pull out the egg, butter, and buttermilk, placing them on the counter while I pull out the bowl, skillet, and the dry ingredients as I hear the shower start up. Remembering my earlier thought, I grab a hot/cold pack out of the cupboard and throw it in the microwave to heat while I fill a teapot with water and set it on to boil.

Mixing the flour and sugar together, I add a pair of eggs and the buttermilk, whisking while I add the baking soda and baking powder. Passing my hand over the skillet, I determine that it’s warmed up enough to start cooking whenever, so I wait until I hear the shower shut off and the bathroom door open to grease the skillet with a pat of butter and use a ladle to pour the first dollops of pancake batter. As I let them cook, I quickly retrieve a pair of plates and some silverware and glasses, putting them on the table before returning the skillet and flipping the first batch.

Pyrrha starts coming down the stairs, weapons in hand and still in her bathrobe, as the first pancakes come off the skillet and the teapot starts to whistle. “There’s a hot pack in the microwave if you want it,” I say, dishing her up a quick stack as she puts her weapons down on the counter and retrieves the syrup and a box of tea bags.

“I’ll grab it after breakfast,” she says.

I pull the teapot off the stove, pouring each of us a mug of the boiling water before Pyrrha puts the tea bags in. Breakfast is mostly silent, with us finishing fairly quickly. I give Pyrrha a quick kiss as she starts doing the dishes while I go to take a shower.

Exiting the shower, I dress in fairly grubby clothes before heading out to the reloading bench in the shed, knowing that I’ve been putting off reloading spent cartridges for far too long. I punch out the old primers and seat new ones and am just starting to measure powder loads when Pyrrha enters the shed with a quiet knock. Putting down the tools I was using, I turn with upraised eyebrow.

“Ruby just sent a message, she’s passing through the area and is wondering if we’re home,” she says, scroll in hand.

“We haven’t seen her for months, invite her to stay the night!” I say.

“I figured you’d say that, but I thought I’d check first. I’ll get the guest room aired out if you go get stuff for dinner?”

“Sure. I’m thinking stroganoff if that’s OK with you?”

“That’s fine, but I don’t think we have any red wine right now, so don’t forget to grab that.”

“Should probably go with a Cabernet, since Ruby likes things a bit sweeter. What time is it?”

“A bit after noon.”

“Shoot. I’ll have to finish reloading later if I want to do the stroganoff.”

“I’m sure Ruby will help with that tomorrow, dear.”

I shake my head. “When Ruby tries to help with reloading, we end up debating the merits of various propellant mixtures and loads for hours on end and nothing gets done.”

Pyrrha smiles, saying “And I know you enjoy that.”

“I do enjoy it,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean that the work is getting done. I’m down to only 2 ammo cases for my rifle, and you know how fast that can disappear if there’s a decent sized horde of Grimm.”

“Then pick up some more while you’re in town. We don’t have all of the ingredients for your stroganoff anyways.”

“Yeah... Gonna need the meat, sour cream, mushrooms... do we have the pickles and consommé?”

“We have two pickles left in the jar in the fridge, I don’t know about the beef consommé.”

“Need those then. Should be good for sides... Probably need more rice, though.”

I stand up, turning toward Pyrrha and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “You need anything?”

She pecks me back. “I shouldn’t. If I think of anything, I’ll send you a message.”

“All right, honey. Back in an hour and a half or so,” I say as I walk over to the house, grabbing my large pack and slinging it onto my back before heading out.

Our house is half a mile from the walls of a mid-sized free settlement that’s a popular stop point for traveling merchants. We’re far enough away that we have our privacy (and nobody is disturbed by us fighting Grimm around our house), but still close enough that we can react quickly if a Grimm attack happens. The walk along the cleared path is a nice bit of exercise and nicely clears my head, although I notice that several places are starting to get overgrown – we'll have to come out here and trim back the brush in the next month or so to maintain the trail. Reaching town, I wave to the guards on the gate and they wave back, opening a postern gate to let me in.

“Any Grimm sightings recently?” I ask, not expecting an affirmative answer – Pyrrha and I do a pretty good job of keeping them down in the area. Usually we only hear a yes when a new pack moves in or we’ve had to leave on a mission for a week or three.

“Nah. Been pretty quiet, most excitement was one trader’s guard who got drunk and handsy with a waitress. He sobered up nicely in the drunk tank, paid his fine, and apologized.”

“Fine made its way to the waitress, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good,” I say. We finish our pleasantries and I walk into the town itself.

The main streets are busy, although not with the vehicles that you’d expect in an actual city. Most of the bustle is pedestrians, both adults going to somewhere and kids playing in the streets; the only times vehicles are driven on the roads are when merchants stop by or a transport comes through. Most people don’t have a personal vehicle – after all, why would you? The town is small and built tall, only about a square mile in total size.

Despite the walls and the guard, it’s not unusual to see adults walking around with some form of weaponry on them – this town may be guarded, but we are still on the frontier and Grimm are a sad fact of life. Words of recognition are received from several of the adults, and the normal hero worship from the children before I reach the butcher shop.

“Hey Phil. Got a pound and a half of top sirloin?” I ask as soon as the bells announcing my entrance finish clanging.

“Of course I do! Anything else the Hunter needs?” he says, grabbing a pair of cuts of meat.

“Not unless you’ve started making pickles, beef consommé, or wine.”

“Haven’t yet, but you never know! That’ll be 20 Lien,” he says, wrapping the meat up in paper packaging before wrapping it again in a plastic wrap to prevent any leakage.

I pay up quickly, thanking him before moving out to the liquor store, picking up a selection of wines in addition to the Cabernet that I wanted for this batch of stroganoff, and then swing by the local ammunition supplier.

“Back again? Got behind on your reloads?” the owner asks.

“Yeah, it happens. Been a few more minor Grimm around than normal, so I haven’t really had a lot of time.”

“Standard order, then? Four cases of .308, 2 of .50 BMG?”

“Pass on the .50, I’m overstocked on that right now.”

“And the wife? She need anything?”

“Eh, throw in a case of 30/06. She hasn’t mentioned anything, but it can’t hurt to be safe.”

“Sure thing. All right, that comes to 459 Lien.”

I wince a bit at the price, but this is the price of not making time to reload – especially when you need ammo in the quantities a firearm-focused Hunter does. I pay up quickly, then spend a few minutes adjusting things around in my pack to avoid crushing anything before heading to the grocer.

A quick purchase of the remaining ingredients I need, and my pack is significantly heavier as I exit the postern gate and begin the long stroll home.

The walk home is mostly peaceful, interrupted only once by a frankly stupid Beowulf pup about ¾ of the way there that decided to try to attack me on its own. I didn’t even draw my knife or bother aiming my revolver for anywhere particularly vital – a single shot with the hollow points I keep loaded in it burrowed through the throat and out the other side, taking a good percentage of its now fading body mass with it.

I make it home without further incident, sliding the pack off my back with a pleased groan – even with Aura, a 110-pound weight on your back isn’t light. Pyrrha pokes her head out of the guest room, saying “I heard a shot, everything all right?”

“Young Beowulf thought it’d try it’s luck. Thing didn’t even have properly grown bone plate yet, and it didn’t get within fifteen feet.”

Pyrrha smiles mischievously. “It got that close? I thought you were a sniper?” she teases.

“Still killed it with one shot,” I shrug. “If I’d had my rifle, I’d have killed it earlier. Got some wine and another case of 30/06 for you, by the way.”

“You didn’t have to do that, I still have a case and a half left.”

“Yeah, well, now you have two and a half. Can you move the ammo to the armory while I start cooking?” I ask as I start moving the perishable ingredients to the fridge.

“As soon as I finish with the guest room,” Pyrrha says.

“Thanks. Any idea when Ruby’s going to show up?”

“She messaged me half an hour ago saying she was in sight of the town walls.”

“Probably half an hour then, unless she can’t find the trail. By the way, we need to make some time to trim back the brush on the trail soon.”

_ ‘It’s oddly domestic,’ _ I think as I start dicing the sirloin while the frying pan starts heating up. ‘ _ We’re highly trained soldiers, and yet I’m making dinner while talking with my wife about chores and when our friend is going to visit.’ _

I measure out a cup and a half of rice (good stuff, long-grained Basmati) and rinse it in a strainer, leaving it to dry out again balanced on top of the drying rack before starting to fill the sink with dishwater and scraping the meat into the frying pan to start browning – the sizzle and smell is gratifying. I keep stirring it with the metal spatula while I wait for some of the fat to start to cook down – when it does and I can finally let it sit without it sticking to the bottom of the pan, I quickly wash the cutting board and knife before getting out three pickles and quartering and slicing them, interrupting that process to stir the meat and get it to brown and cook down.

Pyrrha pokes her head into the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help?” she asks.

“If you could measure out two cups of the Cabernet there, that’d be great,” I say, already opening the cans of consommé.

Pyrrha’s just found the corkscrew when a quick knock comes at the door.

“Go let her in, the meat’s almost cooked down, so I can’t leave it,” I say.

She nods, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek as she passes by. I quickly open the bottle of wine, doing a hasty measure into the measuring cup – it doesn’t have to be exact, and I’d left this part for far too long. I hear the door open, and Ruby’s excited yell of “Pyrrha!” and Pyrrha’s bemused response of “Hello again, Ruby!”

I hear their excited chatter moving towards the back of the house where the guest room is located, but I can’t focus on it – the meat has cooked down, and I’m working on ensuring a mostly even glaze on the bottom of the frying pan before I deglaze it. I flick out a chunk of the meat and test it – plain, but good, and the plain part will be fixed with the next step.

I deglaze the pan, pouring half the consommé, the wine, and then the rest of the consommé before turning down the heat to a simmer and giving the whole now soup-like mixture a stir. Seeing it mix nicely, I start adding the thinly sliced pickle quarters as I hear the excited chatter start getting closer.

I start stirring in the pickles as the two women enter the kitchen, finishing up quickly and covering the frying pan as I turn, receiving a flying hug from Ruby. I grunt and take a half step back in mild surprise as I return it. “Ruby! How’ve you been? What’ve you killed?”

She releases me and takes a step back, letting me get a clearer look at her. She’s taller than she was when she started Beacon – not quite as tall as Pyrrha, but no longer a head shorter. Her silver eyes reflect the joy that’s apparent in her smile, as she begins to regale us with tales of the hunts she’s been on and the exotic locations she’s been since we last met up.

Ruby is an odd case when it comes to Hunters – most find an area and stick mostly to it or find a boss who will send them places. Pyrrha and I are the first type, and many Hunters in Atlas are the second. Ruby, on the other hand, tends to freelance and wander. In the five months since we last met up, she’s apparently fought Tannin and Karkadann in Vacuo, hunted down a Wendigo pack on the borders of Atlas, and dealt with several infestations of more minor Grimm in Vale and Mistral. More impressively, she’d done most of it on her own, without backup.

After a few minutes more of that chatter, Ruby ducks out to avail herself of our shower to wash away the grime of the road. I turn and stir the dinner, watching the liquid steam off.

It takes hours, but the liquid I added is finally finishing boiling off. I’ve managed to time it nearly perfectly – the oven dings as the rolls finish cooking, the sides are nearly done, and the rice is finishing as well. I add the sour cream as the meat, pickles, and mushrooms start to glaze the pan, stirring it together before pouring the hot, gray mass into a serving bowl. Pyrrha helps get everything to the table properly before we sit down to eat.

After dinner and dishes are finished, we end up sitting in the living room, remembering the crazy things that we got up to at Beacon. Recent happenings are talked about – apparently, Ruby hasn’t been in contact with Ren and Nora and hadn't heard they were expecting. Her offended gasp at being left out of the loop was the source of a few laughs as well, and she swore that she'd have to visit them next.

Finally, after a few hours of story swapping and reminiscing, we all realize that the sun has departed quite a while ago and head to bed. Unfortunately, Pyrrha and I have a schedule to maintain, and Ruby has a contract in Vale that she needs to fulfill, so she can’t stay too much longer, and we can’t go with her. It’s always a tradeoff – our lives are stable, but comparatively boring, whereas Ruby’s is filled with uncertainty but also much wider ranging adventure.

In the end though,  as my wife lays down next to me,  using my arm as a pillow,  I  decide I wouldn’t change  how this turned out for the world.


End file.
